


Those Obnoxious Pirots

by Sophonisba



Category: G-Force: Guardians of Space, Maison Ikkoku, Shin Kidousenki Gundam Wing, Urusei Yatsura, Yumetsukai - Shimada Masahiko
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - High School, Crack, Fanon, Gen, Post-Canon (Yumetsukai), Post-Series (G-Force), Post-Series (Maison Ikkoku), megacrossover, multiple cultural references, revised edition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-08
Updated: 2011-03-08
Packaged: 2017-10-16 04:33:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophonisba/pseuds/Sophonisba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fusion of Gundam Wing fanon and Urusei Yatsura, crossed over with Maison Ikkoku, Yumetsukai, and anything else that seems vaguely cracky enough to go into the blender. Revised from the version originally posted to the Gundam Wing Addiction bulletin boards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Obnoxious Pirots

**Author's Note:**

> I, being in good health and of (questionably) sound mind and body, and being resolved to write a truly evil fic, do hereby ordain and establish that phantasmagoria which, dear Reader, is about to be inflicted upon you.

  
_**Those Obnoxious Pirots**  
(Spelling Intentional)_   


 

 _~Monday~_

Okay, here I am, keeping a journal for a week the way the assignment says. Not that I think it'll actually be worth much of anything -- I tried to keep a journal once or twice before, and I never remembered to write in it, not to mention that nothing journalworthy ever happens in my life anyway.

The assignment says I'm supposed to start off by describing myself. My name's Duo Maxwell. I'm American. I'm fifteen. I'm skinny, not as tall as I'd like to be, and I've got a hell of a lot of long bronze hair, which I usually keep in a braid. Mother calls it a French braid, which means that it's sort of attached to the back of my head. Agh, I'm no good at explaining this sort of stuff -- you've seen it, sensei. My favorite book is The Silmarillion, my favorite movie is _Yellow Submarine_ , and I have no clue what my favorite song is.

I'm probably supposed to mention what I'm doing at this high school, given the fact that I'm American and this school is in the middle of Tokyo. (Tokyo's been a little disappointing, by the way. So far I haven't seen ONE mutated monster crawl up out of the bay or rampage through the city, unless you count the mutant rush hour subway clown-in-the-car sardine game.)

See, my mother got a chance to go on this six-month sabbatical and business tour, and they let her bring Dad but not me and not Trey. (Trey being my little sister, and fairly decent, except when she keeps pestering me to play with her.) So she asked us what we wanted to do.

Trey wanted to go stay with our cousin Sylvia, and Aunt Agatha agreed to take her. I wanted to go and train to be a space pilot, and they start them young these days. Since Mother and Dad were really really busy making arrangements for their six-month trip, they asked another aunt, Aunt Ruth, to see if she could get me into a six-month space pilot training program at such short notice.

Well, something got passed on wrong SOMEWHERE, because here I am, at a space pirate training program. In Japan, because this high school is the only one that offers such a thing.

Oh, well, I suppose there are worse people to imitate than Harlock. Not to mention that Ryohko is really hot.

(The guy in the apartment above my neighbors lets me watch his video collection a lot. It's freaking enormous. Man, they make a lot of animated stuff with PG-13 or R ratings around here.)

Anyway, another cousin of mine, named Treize -- you can tell we have sort of weird names in my family, right? Anyway, he's part Russian or Ukrainian or something, so he's got an excuse for it -- anyway, he's working on his doctorate at Tokyo University, and he has a part-time job as manager of this old crummy-looking apartment building. He got it when the last one left to get married. I'd say I don't know how he finds the time, except that I know for a fact that his rules for the apartment residents go as follows:

1) Keep it down to a dull roar; don't distract me when I'm working on my dissertation.  
2) While you're at it, don't burn the place down.

I know this because I live there, practically free, in Apartment #2, like my name. Which actually means two in Latin and Greek. Well, it looks more like 'duw' in Greek, but it's still pronounced Duo. Which is good. I think.

I do a little microwave cooking, and now and then Treize invites me in for dinner if I make pathetic enough faces at him, and some of the takeout places will actually deliver, even though most of them are sort of scared of us. Plus, if all else fails, I can always bum food off the Chinese guy in the apartment above my neighbors.

He so does NOT appreciate being bummed off of -- he's some kind of genius or something, and he's trying to get into a college even though he's MY age. First I thought he was crazy. Then the guy next to him in #4, the one with the video collection, explained that nobody ever does anything but goof off in Japanese colleges -- which is lucky, because high school is ridiculously hard here. The only teacher who'll actually listen to our explanations of why I should be given some slack -- good explanations, with a doctor's note and everything -- only does so because she's got this enormous crush on my cousin.

But then the Chinese guy said he wanted to go to college to STUDY. Okay, he is nuts. Apparently, instead of sending SAT scores to all sorts of places, you actually have to take a different test at each college, so he spends all his time studying for them. The guy NEEDS to have something vaguely resembling a social life. You'd think he'd be grateful for us coming in and hanging out.

Hilde looked over my shoulder at this, and she said I should explain why we do. See, the family in #1, and the guy in #4, and the chick who lives in #6, and the chick who USED to live in #6 and now lives up the road at the Chacha Maru Bar & Grill, all assure me that get-togethers and parties and general hanging out ALWAYS happen in #5, dating back to before the guy who married the last or possibly the last-but-one manager, who was there before the guy who was there before the Chinese guy. It's a tradition of Ikkoku Hall, just like all of us having names that match our apartment numbers is a tradition.

Uh, I think 'hall' is a good translation there. I'm still not that great with my Japanese.

Anyway, the Ichinoses -- or should that be Ichinose, or -- Ichinosezoku. Thanks, Hilde. Anyway, they live in #1, and Miss Rokujou lives in #6, and the chick from the Chacha Maru used to be a Miss Roppongi; I haven't the faintest idea what her name is now, because she's married to the guy who owns the Chacha Maru, so she either gets called Ms. Barkeep or Ms. Akemi, and I'm pretty sure that last one's a personal name. She runs in and out of here all the time, and when the parties run too late she crashes in #3, so I think her name now might have a three in it somewhere, unless the "mi" in "Akemi" is the three "mi" -- I just call her Ms. Barkeep. And the Chinese guy's name has "five" in it -- my fellow inmates call him "Gohi" because that's the way his name's pronounced in Japanese, while Treize calls him by his Chinese name, which sounds sort of like "Oofey" and sort of like "Oofy," as in Oofy Prosser, if you happen to be familiar with Wodehouse, which you probably aren't; so I call him "Oofy" or sometimes "Oohmeister," because he makes the most interesting faces when I do -- he calls me something in Chinese which I keep trying to memorize because it's got to be foul language, and I collect swearwords and insults in other languages -- and Mr. Yotsuya, the man with The Most Incredible Video Collection, No Visible Job, and No Life, in #4.

Come to think of it, when the high point of my day these days is climbing through the ceiling, scuttling through the hole in Mr. Yotsuya's closet into #5 (with Mr. Yotsuya), and then either hanging out in there or unblocking another hole into #6 and peering through it to see the chick who lives there puttering around in the same lingerie that she was wandering around in RIGHT OUT IN PLAIN SIGHT OUT IN THE HALLWAY EARLIER IN THE DAY, it's probably a fairly good clue that I really ought to get a life myself. (At least it keeps me in shape.)

Sheesh, one of the other two foreign exchange students in the school has already declared me a loser -- and I'd been hoping for more from Miss Relena Who-Died-And-Made-You-Ruler-of-the-Universe? Darlian. I think we started on the right foot, and I was even hoping to ask her out for a burger or something, but then she said that she thought Ryohko was too loud -- dammit, it's not her fault! I'm rooting for her, because if she can make it, there's no excuse for me not to -- and then she said that she didn't like Miss Piggy. I mean, how can one not like La Pig? Hell, I'd date her in a New York minute if she were flesh instead of foamrubber. So I started pacing back and forth and sort of running or maybe bouncing, explaining the true greatness of La Pig, who is my second favorite Muppet after all, and I accidentally hit Relena in the arm with my braid when I turned and shook my head too suddenly. It was an accident, but she told me that the others were right and that I was a loser. I wish they'd keep us apart from the other students, the ones who aren't in the space pirate program. Well, except for Hilde. Hilde's the only one who talks to me now, outside of class.

Hilde says I should probably explain the dyssemia thing. Like we haven't told all of you and told you about it already -- they thought I was hyperactive when I was little, and then they were sure I had ADD, and from what I've seen on the papers they've changed their minds again and think it's this Asperger's Syndrome thing, whatever that is, except I think it's got something to do with autism because that's what Treize is writing his dissertation on, and he makes me do these tests every so often. Anyway, a side effect is that I have this body-language learning disability "dyssemia" which I mentioned, and it's rather like being socially tone-deaf. My cousin says that most of the people who have it are way too introverted, and that I'm an exception in being too outgoing for my own good. All part of the Maxwell charm, y'know. Except that it so does not work in Japan, because all of you are too introverted too. I should think most of the people from Judy's social skills class -- I took it from her four years running -- would be right at home here. Except in Ikkoku-kan. I think I get along so well with everyone there because we're all dyssemic together. Except maybe for Oofy the Wu-man, and I wouldn't really be able to tell because I don't know the current state of manners in China. Or Taiwan. Or wherever he's from -- I haven't really asked.

Hilde, now, I knew before -- she used to go to my middle school, and her father's a squash partner of Dad's, so we've sort of known each other our whole lives, just about. She grew up really hot, though. I'll bet she's the third best-looking in the whole school. I've asked her out a couple of times, but she always turns me down. At least she usually does it nicely, though. Most Japanese girls slap my face, and I don't think I said anything objectionable.

I need to pick up more colloquial Japanese. It's going to kill me one of these days. Maybe I could ask Miss Rokujou for extra lessons; she speaks pretty good English, what with having lived in New York for a while and still doing some sort of telephone investments-or-something to there and all over the world as a hobby.

Oh, my math teacher had a hissyfit about me not paying attention. Guess I'll write more later, if I can think of any more. Which I doubt.

 _~later~_

What a DAY.

After school, I asked Nanami -- she comes to school early, so do I -- if she'd have a cup of java with me tomorrow before school started. (Well, I don't like coffee, but the coffeeshop next to the school has plenty of other hot drinks. I was sure I'd got it right, negative form and everything -- "Tomorrow, won't you drink coffee together (with me) in the morning?" but for some reason she not only slapped me, she called me a lech at the top of her lungs. You'd think I'd asked her to have wild monkey sex on top of the school piano with me instead of a simple cup of joe. (Not that I'd have any objections to the former with Nanami, but even I know not to try anything on the first date.)

Then I was cutting across the ball fields on my way home, and one of the guys kept yelling. I thought he was talking to some friend of his, but he meant the baseball was going to hit me, which it nearly did and I fell on my ass in a puddle avoiding it and got the end of my hair all muddy.

And then this creepy Chinese monk -- at least, he was dressed like a Buddhist monk -- popped up out of nowhere, startling me so that I very nearly clocked him with my backpack and half my stuff fell out of it on the swing, and told me that I had the unluckiest-looking face he'd ever seen while I was picking all my crap back up.

I resent that.

I mean, sure, I'd like to lose some of the baby fat from my cheeks, and my eyes are so big I look a year or two younger than I am (which is going to be a BIG pain if I ever get my hands on that faked ID Mr. Yotsuya offered to get for me for a reasonable price), but I'd like to think that I'm pretty good-looking, if not classically studly.

And once I shook him and was finally on my way back to Ikkoku Hall, this unobtrusive-looking car pulled up next to me and two guys in quiet suits that, together with the car, just screamed "secret government agency" grabbed me and shoved me in the backseat.

I asked them what they thought they were doing with me, and they wouldn't talk.

Then I told them I didn't like guys -- not that I really thought they'd grabbed me off the street for that when they could have rented five hookers with their departmental budget, the way everyone else in the Japanese government does (Mrs. Ichinose told me all about it), but I figured it might get a response.

"Neither do I," said the guy on my left.

Then the driver said "You'll be told everything when we get home," and it was Mr. Yotsuya!

That's about when I decided that today wasn't just weird, it was majorly weird.

I mean, Yotsuya, working for a secret government agency? Give me a break.

Anyway, when we got back to Ikkoku-kan, the G-men, or whatever you call them in Japanese, frog-marched me into the manager's apartment. I walked into the living room and froze.

There was this huge -- and I mean HUGE -- guy in there, sitting at the table. At least eight feet tall, probably nine, and built like Fred Flintstone on top of that. The Flintstone resemblance was heightened by the fact that he was wearing this huge tiger skin. I mean, either it was a bunch of skins sewn together so well that you couldn't tell, or it came off a tiger the size of a minivan. And he had HORNS, I kid you not, growing out of his head.

I quickly looked around to see if Treize was within easy grabbing-running-like-hell-and-bolting-the-door-behind-us distance, or if Blunderbore there had eaten him.

He was sitting at the table, drinking wine -- probably a good one; I don't know much about that sort of stuff, but my cousin never economizes on alcohol -- and looking so perfectly at ease that I was surprised he wasn't wearing that stupid baby-chick apron of his. Oh, wait, not appropriate for entertaining guests.

"Pray take a seat, Duo," he said. "This is 'Invader,' who has come to conquer the earth."

Okay, about this point I figured I was having a dream worthy of the weird Society of Gonzo Admirers, and I might as well go with the flow. This is why I sat down and grabbed some Doritos from the bowl on the table.

"Invader-san is a member of the Space Pirates' Guild," the guy who'd been sitting on my right in the car went on. "Since we have a small branch here, he has kindly agreed to call off the invasion if a randomly selected Terran space pirate can defeat their champion in his people, the Oni's, planetary sport. You have been selected."

"What sport is that?" I asked, swallowing the chips.

"The Oni game."

I must have looked as confused as I felt, because Treize leaned over and whispered "That's Japanese for 'tag.' The oni is 'it.'"

A game of tag. With a guy who could probably knock me flying fifty feet with a friendly slap on the back.

"Count me out," I informed them. "Randomly select somebody else."

"We can't. It has to be you," the guy who'd been on my left glared.

"For the sake of the Earth, you've got to do your best!" Where did these two get their dialogue, old giant robot shows?

"Against HIM?" I shook my head very firmly, half-hoping that I smacked one of them in the face accidentally-on-purpose.

Invader started laughing. "Ore ja nai," he announced, sounding even more uncertain of his Japanese than I am. Okay, so not him.

"Aite wa anoko da." He waved at someone sitting behind him, whom I'd sort of inexcusably not noticed before, probably due to Invader's sheer physical presence. That meant "she's your opponent," right?

"Anoko" turned out to be a girl about my age in a short kimono-looking thing (the kind of thing you see people wearing in historical dramas, doesn't quite reach to the knee) made out of -- what else? -- tiger skin. From what I could see of her, she was a bit more solidly built than I preferred, but at least it was all muscle, not fat. She would have been really cute if she smiled, and her small horns peeked out of short messy moss-green hair.

"Aite wa anoko?" I repeated. Yeah, she'd definitely be cute. And I'm pretty good at running -- must be all the bouncing around I do when I'm thinking. "Oni-game? Hell, yeah. Of course I'll do it."

Oh, for crying out loud, sensei, you've got to have been young once yourself! The only girl who'll give me the time of day treats me like a brother, this one sure LOOKED as if there were potential there, and so what if she were an alien planning to take over the world? Worked for Tetsuya in Outlanders, didn't it?

Of course, the earth sort of got blown up in Outlanders, too. Maybe not the best of examples.

Yotsuya and his two co-workers broke out in cheers, and my cousin poured wine all around. I plastered my best smile on my face and leaned towards my prospective opponent for the fate of the world.

"My name's Duo Maxwell, what's yours?"

She snorted, stood up, and glared at Invader.

"This place is full of idiots," Green-hair's voice was about two octaves below what I'd been expecting, "AND it's hot. I'm out of here."

Green-hair shrugged out of the robe, tossed it at Invader, and stalked off in nothing but tigerskin half-boots, spandex shorts in one pattern of tigerstripe, and a tank top in a different one -- all of which added up to more than enough for me to see that unless Oni were wildly different from humans, my counterpart was definitely-but-definitely a boy.

Oh God. I'd been checking out a guy. In front of Other People. Thank God I hadn't actually said anything that actually sounded like a pick-up line. "What's your name?" was a perfectly logical question to ask anyone, male, female, or talking octopus. Probably nobody noticed. Hopefully nobody noticed. Please, let nobody have noticed -- my reputation was low enough already.

"Excuse my son," Invader sounded amused. "Hiiro hasn't mastered Terran manners yet."

"Doesn't seem to be a problem for Maxwell." Yotsuya poured himself another glass of wine.

Oh GOD. Yotsuya noticed. (And told all of my fellow-tenants later that evening, much to their amusement. I think Oofy's still laughing.) Which is why I bothered to write it down, because it'll be all over the school tomorrow.

And then I pinched myself, and it hurt, which meant that it wasn't a dream, and I was going to face -- Hiiro? Weird sort of a name, the way Invader said it -- tomorrow, as they arranged, and have the fate of the world depend on me winning a tag game.

You know, I'd have liked to start off the journalworthy events of my life with something a LITTLE less out there?

Well, with any luck, being the savior of the world should mean that SOMEBODY will actually be willing to date me for a change.

 _~Tuesday~_

I'm operating on the assumption that there will still be a school next Monday and that this stupid rotten journal assignment will still be due. Partly because I can't afford to think otherwise until this contest thing is over, and partly because just about every time I assume I don't have to do some homework it turns out that I did.

(Too bad it doesn't work the other way around, or I could just blow this assignment and assure my victory in the Game.)

Anyway, what with all the racketyshmack last night, I forgot to set my alarm. Of course.

So I got woken up by my cousin knocking on my door and by Yotsuya and the Oohmeister dropping through my ceiling and nearly landing on my stomach, and had to get dressed in a hurry.

And NOT my school uniform, for a change! What idiot decided that people should wear uniforms to school? How can you ever tell people's taste in T shirts (or find out about new cool ones) if you can't see them on your classmates? Plus the darn uniforms start reeking by the time it's time to do the week's laundry, and who has time to wash them every day?

Not to mention the fact that you can't run worth shit in them.

So I showed up -- was dragged, more like (the two cans of Mountain Dew hadn't kicked in yet; last of the stash I brought from home) to the middle of the local, um, bit with all the shops and weird little stores and restaurants and such. Probably would have been the village downtown if this piece of Tokyo ever used to be its own little village. Which it might have been; I never asked.

And it was cold \-- shorts and a tank top just do not cut it in a Tokyo early morning. At least HE'd be stuck with the same problem.

You know, the more I see of him, the more I can't believe I ever thought he was a girl. Or should that be the less I can believe...

Of course I wasn't wearing spandex. That stuff is evil, plus a pain to get off in a hurry if you've got to piss. I have no quarrel with it on cute girls, of course. (is that too many of courses? Oh, who cares, it's my journal, not an essay...)

I was wearing running shorts and a tanktop with a big 2 on it.

For some reason Yotsuya thinks I should have worn one with a four on it. (Hell with the 'Mr.' I'm too stressed for a 'Mr.' Besides, he doesn't deserve one.) This is absofuckinlutely ridiculous (don't bother trying to look that word up, it's one of the ones Mother doesn't like me using) because firstly, my name means two, not four, and secondly, four is really unlucky in Japan, kind of like thirteen is in America. (I wonder if that's why Treize came here for his doctorate. He certainly always seems to have a date Friday nights.)

Anyway, so here we are, out in the cold and grey, with a bunch of oni -- sheesh, they seem to run to the big and bulky, except for the chicks -- oh, MAN. Why couldn't my opponent have been a girl who looked like THAT?

You saw them on TV yourself, of course. Along with all those important dignitaries who had to be seated, and a kazillion news reporters, and half the school.

So there's all the last-minute muttering and fuss, and my cousin hissing translations in my ear half the time. Wish he'd had time to brush his teeth that morning. Translations were good, though. I hadn't realized I was supposed to tag HIM, not the other way around. Then again, the oni version of the game requires tagging someone on the horns, and it would be kind of hard to tag me on mine, being as I'm not even seeing someone yet, let alone married.

I don't expect you to get that one, sensei.

And the five-day limit... today's Tuesday, so it ends on Saturday.

Well, I figured it shouldn't be that hard. I got ready and everything for a mad dash. A regular Jess or whatever his name was, from the Terebithia book.

The umpire lady (never seen a woman with wings growing out of her head before, unless you count the one in the Devilman preview, and that was an evil one, not like this one) yelled "Start!" and I took off.

I nearly touched him. Honest. Hiiro actually looked startled for a moment -- I'd thought he couldn't manage anything between Deadpan and Glare. Silly of me; did I think he was a cartoon character or something?

And then he just... FLEW up and out of my reach.

Flew.

Like Superman or something.

No one said ANYTHING about flying.

I mean, isn't it against the rules or something? If I can't fly?

Screw them. Screw all of them. Offering hope and dashing it in everyone's faces.

And when I looked up at him, he smirked.

Bastard. I am so going to GET that bastard. I'm going to WIN this.

Nothing journalworthy happened the rest of today.

 _~Wednesday~_

I told them they should let us have more practice flying actual aircraft and less on simulators. I told them!

Jet packs do not work the way they're supposed to.

My aunts called. My parents are on a trip somewhere in the wilds of Uzbekistan at the moment, and nobody's really sure of getting a hold of them before Sunday.

Trey called. Normal. For once today.

Fuck the journal. I'm tired.

 _~Thursday~_

It rained.

I sprained my ankle.

 _~Friday~_

Most of today went about the way you'd expect. Read: lousy.

This evening, Hilde came over.

We talked about this and that and middle school days and so forth for a while. I could tell she had something on her mind, so I encouraged her to talk. This meant that I had to be quiet a lot.

It's not that I dislike quiet. As a matter of fact, Hilde's one of the few people whom I can be quiet with for a long time and just enjoy the being there. (So's Trey. I wish she'd understand that -- at least she doesn't bug me to put on stories together with her Barbies anymore. Trey, that is. I don't think Hilde ever HAD Barbies.)

But quiet when I want to talk -- THAT'S annoying.

After nearly an hour, she finally said that she was rooting for me to win. Correction. She needed me to win.

I wasn't quite sure what all this had to do with the price of eggs, but I very suavely asked her if that was a way of indicating her receptiveness to the idea of going out to see a movie or something next Tuesday, provided the world hadn't gone to hell in a handbasket.

And Hilde said "Duo, I can't stand the thought of you being a loser all your life!"

Ears to brain: how to process this? On the one hand, maybe it means she might actually maybe like me. Sort of.

On the other hand, she just called me a loser. HILDE called me a loser. I know lots of people think I'm a loser, but I don't -- at least not most of the time -- and I didn't think Hilde did either.

I mean, this is me. Duo Maxwell. All-around cool guy.

Well, partway-around cool guy, at any rate.

"Please, you've just got to win," Hilde said, and hugged me. Not exactly a platonic hug, either.

Looking back on it (from an hour's perspective) I don't think she MEANT to call me a loser, she was just nervous.

"If... if you win... I swear I'll marry you!" she said.

And then she ran out, and I couldn't go after her because I had to yell at Ms. Barkeep (whom Hilde had knocked flat with the door) and then throw an empty ice-cream tub at Yotsuya for eavesdropping himself.

I think I'm actually beginning to sympathize with Oofy.

Okay, I just scared myself there.

But... Hilde? Marriage?

I'm only fifteen! I haven't lived yet!

Of course, I don't know anyone I'd rather marry than Hilde...

It's an awful lot of responsibility, and I'm way young (so's she)...

Well, she probably meant when we grow up. I can deal with that.

I mean, when I win, I'm probably going to get marriage proposals and women mailing me their underwear and everything.

Now that's got to be a side effect of the Asperger's, because I know guys are supposed to get excited about getting underwear mailed to them by women, but I'm not quite sure why. I mean, what am I supposed to do with it, wear it?

Hilde probably just wants to make sure she gets first dibs.

So maybe she DOES really like me. All RIGHT!

And she wants to marry me.

Which means forever... well, or until divorce do you part...

And a veil and orange blossoms...

And children... not just yet, of course...

And living together and doing the laundry and the dishes and who left the top off the milk...

And regular nookie...

Say what?

Mokkori-taishou reporting for duty, SAH!

 _~Saturday~_

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

Maybe I just dreamed all of today.

Maybe I just dreamed the whole week.

Hell, maybe I just dreamed the whole month, and I'm still at home in bed waiting for Mother to come home so Trey and I can help bring in the groceries.

I do NOT believe what happened today. Nope, not, no freaking way in Hell.

Last night, Yotsuya and Treize and Oofy and I got together and raided the attic and borrowed something from Yotsuya's collection -- what do you want to bet it's the only time anyone's ever raided HIS stuff? -- and put together my secret key for winning the race.

If I ever meet the former manager of Ikkoku Hall, remind me to thank her for leaving that "piyo-piyo" apron behind. After I remember to get a picture or five of Treize in it -- it ALWAYS makes me nearly crack up, except for now and then when it makes me crack up, and I never have a camera handy to capture the moment and share the joke with everyone else.

Anyway, we met in the same street again. My Key got some strange looks, and the oni had to check it because no edged weapons, ray weapons, or projectile weapons were allowed. I pointed out that it wasn't a weapon and talked really fast, and they finally let me keep it.

The umpire lady yelled "Go!"

I lifted the powerful recurved bow and fired at Hiiro.

More specifically, at his shorts. The SuperSuction Cup Arrow hit almost directly in the upper middle, too. I'd say, under and to the left of his navel.

And then I began to reel in the string attached to the arrow.

I saw the tabloid that claimed I ripped his shorts off. That is such bullpucky -- it was a strong suction cup, but that'd be plain ridiculous.

But the shorts did start to come with the cup. However, irresistible force (me -- picture me grinning here), immovable object, something had to give.

The suction cup came flying back to me, and the shorts snapped back against Hiiro very loudly.

That's the other reason I don't wear spandex. Nobody can snap it.

I dropped the bow and prepared to receive enraged oni. He was pissed. He was beyond pissed -- I don't think anyone had ever snapped his shorts in his life.

I kind of ducked him when he rushed me, slid my left arm up under his right, winced as he got a hold of my hair (my scalp's still tingling and I think he pulled some of it OUT. Bastard) and clapped my hands onto his horns.

"Gotcha!" I yelled. Okay, so I said it in English. I was excited.

And he froze. And let go of my hair, thank goodness. And just stared at me while the flashbulbs went off and the cameras rolled.

The staring was making me uncomfortable. Besides, people were approaching. My cousin. My classmates. Hilde.

"I won! Katta zo!" I cheered. "Kekkon shiyoo!"

I'm sure I used that right. The dictionary says that the -yoo form is used for intention. I intended to marry Hilde. Although probably not right that minute.

Hiiro stared up at me. Thinking about something. Lord knows what. And I still had my hands on his horns -- I was wondering if he wanted me to let go, or when the proper time was to let go, or what. I mean, I had the third-most-gorgeous girl of Tomobiki High waiting around to be hugged as soon as I could pry my hands off, right?

Then he finally said something. "Wakatta. Ninmu ryoukai."

I need to learn more Japanese. I know the last bit of that means something like "Roger!", especially in SF and military stuff.

Hiiro wasn't done. "Kekkon surutcha, Darling."

Okay. I mean, say WHAT?

The news people started getting really excited about then. Babbling about interspecies relationships, and what this meant for LGBT groups -- that last was only the Terran ones, Ms. Barkeep explained afterwards that all the aliens gave us weird looks and then demanded to know why such marriages WOULDN'T be valid.

"I will be honored to marry you, Darling," he continued. At least he wasn't saying 'darling' in an endearment way or anything. He was saying it as if -- as if I'd introduced myself to him as Darling Maxwell back on Monday.

"A living symbol of the peace between our cultures!" one of the oni reporters enthused for their camera-or-whatever.

Hilde just stared at me as if I were a two-headed frog on steroids. Which is a pretty good description of the way I felt at the moment.

"My son!" Invader was beaming from ear to ear.

Why the hell did he have to take it as an OFFER? Why did everyone ELSE have to take it that way? If they'd all told him he'd made a mistake, he'd probably have apologized, or at least not pushed it, right?

"I will always be faithful to this compact." In the same monotone he'd been using the whole time. And keeping saying 'cha' at the end of every sentence -- I know that means "tea," but I was fairly sure it didn't here, because it made no sense to keep mentioning tea.

Why the hell did he have to ACCEPT?

Unless...

Oh God, does he have the hots for me? He's certainly never acted like it, but...

"And if you are ever unfaithful, I shall treat you thus."

And I swear, it felt like an honest-to-God LIGHTNING BOLT slamming down on me and knocking my head into my toes. I feel dizzy just remembering.

"Where we are two, there we are one," is the last thing I remember him saying before passing out.

And then when they got me back to Ikkoku-kan, Yotsuya was saying that I'd obviously changed my mind about not liking guys, and Oofy was ranting about consorting with the enemy and celebrating said consortation in his room, and Mrs. Ichinose started sobbing that she always enjoyed weddings and announced that this called for a drink, or better yet several, and Ms. Barkeep turned up with a couple of bottles of the good stuff and told me some of the juicy details I'd missed, and Miss Rokujou told us more of the interesting details we hadn't caught and offered to lend me some of her fan-made guys-boinking-each-other manga smut if I needed any manuals for my wedding night, and Treize stuck his head in to let me know that Hiiro had gone back to his ship, at least for tonight, before going to do more work on his dissertation. Treize's, that is. I have no clue if Hiiro's working on a dissertation or not. With my luck, he's probably working on one about Earthling weddings.

How am I supposed to face everyone at school?

I'm just about ready to declare this journal assignment garbage. After all, I have the best excuse in the world for not having done  
squat.

If he comes over tomorrow, I can explain then about it all being a mistake. Maybe it'll die down.

Trey's going to tease me about this one forEVER. As if my fellow tenants weren't bad enough...

Oh, SHIT! What will my parents say?

 

Continue (Y/N)?  
C:\>


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